Homesick
I’m homesick. Desperately, miserably so. I don’t know why – I don’t usually get homesick, but then I haven’t been out of the UK for more than about five months at a time since I was twenty.Â
I’ve had twinges of missing home for a few months. I’ve occasionally sat in my flat, cosy and relaxed, a book on one hand, a glass of chilled white wine in the other, and suddenly I feel a deep longing for home. I think how perfect it would be if I could be transported, Harry Potter like, my glass still in hand, to a pub where my friends sit laughing about men, and work, and people we know.Â
Recently, though, in the last three or four weeks, I’ve been plagued with rosy visions of summer in England – you know, village greens that aren’t marred by vandalized bus-stops and piles of dog shit; pimms and lemonade; strawberries and cream; real ale; 99s; the crack of leather on willow: all that stuff. I love summer in England. It’s just wonderful.
I dream of spending a Sunday lying in Hyde Park with my best friend, slightly hungover, and getting slowly stoned and drunk while reading the papers in the sun. I know that Hyde Park is full of inconsiderate wankers who kick footballs into your idyllic reverie, and shout a lot, and you can never find anywhere quiet to sit, but I still love it.
I also dream of having a job that actually stimulates me, and doesn’t make me feel as if my brain has stagnated to the point where it’s dribbling out of my ears, and where I don’t have to deal with comments like “I thought about you every night while I was away. The last night, I threw up†from the person I share my office space with. Then I remember that any job I have is going to be fraught with irritations, and my rose-tinted spectacles are getting darker, and more opaque with every day that passes.Â
Namibia is beautiful, and challenging. Often, I love it. I’m lucky to travel as much as I do, and even in Windhoek, the light on the mountains is so magical that it takes my breath away every single morning, and every evening when I go home. I have learned so much; I dont’ think I’ll realise how much until I leave. I also feel I’ve still got alot to achieve here.Â
But I miss my friends. I miss my family. I miss home. And it’s going to be another 14 months before I go back.Â
Sometimes, I’m not sure I can last that long.Â
July 14th, 2006 at 10:27 am
Try doing a little make believe. Thats what I do. Tune into Virgin Radio on the computer, find something with an English smell (isn’t that what candles are for?)close your eyes and pretend you are at home!
July 14th, 2006 at 10:47 am
home’s not that great you know.. all there is on tv is big brother or celebrity love island.. whoops, that might be too enticing. gulp. so, let me think quickly of some terribleness. this week, the streets of east london are covered in ash and bits of paper after a paper factory exploded in bow on wednesday. nice. lovely for the littl’uns lungs.. seriously though, i think you need to follow marcus’s strategy of breaking potentially difficult periods into manageable chunks, rather than focusing on 14 MONTHS which does seem a long time. take it a month or two at a time sweetheart.
July 14th, 2006 at 1:23 pm
yeh, you know if you came home you’d wonder what you missed after all…
it is hard.
but what an awesome experience!
chin up! x
July 14th, 2006 at 2:13 pm
Nicki – oh, how I’ve tried to tune into Radio 2. I miss Jonathan Ross most of all (sorry Mum), but my proxy server won’t allow it. Darn it. I may try the candles though. I’ll see if I can find some real ale scented ones.
Mel – TV – you mean there’s TV at home? Wow. I’ve got to the state these days where if I see a TV in the room, I’m mesmerised by it even if it isn’t on. I keep up with the soaps by reading about them in heat (although here they’re all crap, like 7 de laan, and When You are Mine). I’m going to be unmanageable when I get home.
Piu Piu – yep, you’re right. I’d kick myself.
July 17th, 2006 at 11:48 am
All I can tell you is that they’ll miss you just as much as you miss them. My best friend is away at the moment and I’m missing him like crazy. Doesn’t mean I’d suggest he gives it all up to return back to England even if I want him to. Why don’t you see if you can’t recreate a bit of England there?? I know Barcelona isn’t as far from the Uk as Namibia but when I was staying with a host family there and missing England I persuaded my host family to have traditional afternoon tea with me – scones, jam, tea, cream etc – to make me feel more at home. We all enjoyed it in the end but I think they quite fancied the plane back to England more than me at the end of it